Doing Alright
by Axcent
Summary: 'You have a gun down your pants. That's psychotic.' Matt pointed at Mello's crotch with his lit cigarette. 'Why would you do that'


Crossposted to my AO3 ( /works/13648596). Hope you enjoy the read!

* * *

Matt found that he was quite alright alone. He'd spent a lot of time laying about on the floor feeling lonely when Mello left, but he was over that and was now living in an apartment in London and having a rather good time of it.

He shopped at the Off License Grocery down the road, went to the pub on the weekends, and drank with some guys who also went to the pub on weekends.

He hadn't noticed how much Wammy's had sheltered and groomed him until he became an average, boring guy with a downstairs flat and an overgrown yard. Being third in the rankings had barely prepared him for mediocrity - he was saved from a mental breakdown of the kind Mello had daily by his stable apathy and consistently bad personality. Every time he was tempted to think of one of his mates as a directionless idiot with whom, being a hand-picked genius, he shouldn't associate, he had only to remember that he had never once put any effort into his studies and would probably have been a rubbish, lazy detective anyway. And then order another pint.

He woke up Tuesday morning in his jeans with plans to eat a pizza pop and masturbate, but before he'd opened the freezer, there was a knock at the door. Rare.

He slouched to answer it, stifling a yawn behind his hand, and undid the bolt.

'Matt.' Mello greeted him from the stoop. It was the first thing Mello had said to him in four years.

'Uh... holy shit.' Matt said. Mello had gotten hot in a dangerous, motorbike gang sort of way.

'Can I come in?' Mello asked. His voice was so low it was gravelly - ironic because Matt was the chain smoker.

'Yeah, ok.' Matt stepped aside and ushered Mello into his little flat. 'I'll put a pot of tea on.'

Matt didn't have any tea. He realised this as soon as Mello brushed past him and started for the living room, and stood contemplating whether he could bring Mello a bottle of Pepsi and a #1 Dad mug without getting insulted too badly.

He followed Mello into the living room empty handed and sat on the couch facing him. Mello had sat in Matt's dilapidated armchair with his legs spread wider than any pervert on any bus Matt had ever seen.

'You might have called ahead.' Matt said, leaning back against the couch cushions and lighting up.

'Shut up.' Mello snapped. 'I'm not here to fuck around with you.'

'Aw, that's too bad.'

'I need you to come work for me.' Mello continued. 'We'll be a team.'

Matt found that idea quite unrealistic, and very shocking. The whole situation was so shocking he almost felt his heart start to beat.

'Seems unrealistic.' He said, snubbing a cigarette.

'You can't be thinking of staying here.' Mello's voice was so dry, it could have started a forest fire.

Matt looked around at his apartment. The curtains were always closed, but he'd managed to cultivate a succulent garden on the floor in front of the sliding glass door, which he never opened. 'I like it.'

'It's a shithole.' Mello hissed. 'I can't believe you left Wammy's to live like an urchin.'

'What did you think I was going to do?' He asked, offhandedly. 'Sit around in my own shit waiting for you in the orphanage, like a baby?'

It looked for a moment like Mello was about to say, 'yes, you idiot! you were supposed to be so dependent on me you would starve alone in a deep dark pit without me! you were supposed to crawl back to me on your hands and knees and kiss my big-ass boots! you were supposed to weep like I was the second coming of Christ, prostrate yourself before me, and praise the Lord that I had brought light back into your miserable life!', but instead he said 'Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Matt.'

Matt crossed his legs. 'I'm feeling fine, actually.'

'You've obviously spent the past four years trying to prove something to yourself. Cut it out and come with me.'

'If you wanted me, you could have had me straight out of Wammy's. I'm quite comfortable, and I'm not leaving.'

'You worthless piece of shit.' Mello sighed, running a hand through his hair. 'You're really going to sit here, going to waste, because I hurt your feelings? Grow up.'

'I have.' Matt snapped. 'I got over you.'

'Are you sure?' Mello purred, narrowing his aggressively blue eyes. His face looked angry, but Matt knew he was trying to be suggestive. He had grown up with Mello. Once he'd tried to bury him in sand and Mello had kicked him in the balls. They had a lot of good memories together. Mello had been his first kiss, and his first handjob. His only handjob, actually.

'Yeah, pretty sure.' Matt answered flippantly. 'You didn't give a shit, so neither do I.'

'I guess that's fair.' Mello leant over his spread thighs and steepled his fingers.

'Is that a gun?' Matt asked.

'You're staring.'

'You have a gun down your pants. That's psychotic.' Matt pointed at Mello's crotch with his lit cigarette. 'Why would you do that?'

'It's a threat.' Mello explained.

'Oh, cool. Subtle.'

Mello quirked an eyebrow. 'Should I draw it or will you follow me quietly?'

Matt blew smoke into the air between them. He wasn't lying when he said he liked his flat. He'd gotten the couch from a dumpster near enough to drag it inside through the alley behind his absurdly small "backyard" and right into the living room. He had actually accepted life in his little corner of London, alone and bored. 'I'd like to see you draw it.' He decided.

Mello did, unclocked the safety, and pointed it at Matt's nose.

Matt slouched. Mello lowered his arm just enough to keep it lined up. 'Am I any use to you dead?' He asked.

'Of course not.' Mello said.

'Let me pack a bag.'

Mello put the gun away. Matt watched him do it before he went into his bedroom and gathered a few essentials - his best gear, one shirt, some mismatched socks, weed. 'I guess I'm driving?' He called out.

'I took the bus here.' Mello called back.

Matt grabbed his keys. 'And where are we going?'

'Wherever I tell you to go.'

''Course.'

They walked together into a sunny afternoon. Matt's dandelion problem was at its dismal peak; his front yard was covered in them.

He parked his car down the street, in front of a nicer looking home. He had a theory that it would prevent thieves from casing his flat, but it hadn't really worked because so far he'd been robbed twice.

Mello climbed into the passenger seat and took his jacket off. He'd done a lot of pushups or something. Matt didn't feel bad looking, because it wasn't that hot out so Mello had probably taken the jacket off to show him his nice arms. Matt had never done a single pushup and didn't carry anything heavier than a six pack, as a rule, so he left his hoodie on.

'Turn left at the lights.' Mello said, when they'd pulled off the curb.

''kay. Roll me a cigarette.'

'What? Fuck no.'

'It's my car.' Matt said, tapping his mostly finished butt into the cup holder. 'I'm driving you.'

'I don't give a shit.' Mello growled. 'I'm not your fucking maid.'

'Please?'

Mello chucked the papers and tobacco that Matt kept in the passenger foot space into the backseat. 'I need the leg room.'

'Come on!' Matt banged the steering wheel. 'I'm pulling over.'

'You're a pathetic addict.' Mello sneered, as Matt pulled onto the shoulder of the road and reached back for his stuff.

'Whatever.' He rolled as many cigarettes as he could fit in the second cup holder. 'I wish you'd warned me you were a shite roadtrip buddy.'

'You should have guessed.'

'Yeah.' Matt agreed. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment and pulled out his ipod. 'I haven't left London since I moved here.' He said conversationally over the sounds of a local hardcore band.

'That doesn't surprise me at all.' Mello turned the volume down.

'So. Where have you been?'

'Working the Kira case.'

Matt turned the volume back up. 'But you didn't get the Kira case.'

'I still have my gun.' Mello reminded him.

'Cool. Let me know when I need to turn.'

'Two blocks. We're going to the ferry.'

'We're leaving England?' Matt asked. 'In my car?'

'Yes.'

'I should've packed another shirt.'

Matt met Mello's eye when they both turned to look at each other at the same time. He was kind of happy. He liked being Mello's hostage/employee. They'd had the sort of relationship a guy like Matt could only hope, statistically, to have less than once in a lifetime. And here he was, having had it and not having it anymore, but being the hostage and employee of the man who'd dry humped him in a gas station bathroom once on a snack run. An hour ago he'd hoped he'd die at 29 in a four car pile-up, cigarette in his teeth and radio blaring. Now he was optimistic that he'd die sooner than that of a gunshot wound, but in a much better mood.

'Watch the road.' Mello snapped, grabbing the wheel and making him swerve.

'Jesus - don't do that!' Matt cried. 'I almost swallowed my fag.'

'You obviously don't have the attention span to smoke and drive at the same time.'

'Shut up, yes I do.' Matt grumbled. He dropped his cigarette out the window and started a new one. 'I never drive without 'em.'

'That's disgusting.'

They stopped at a convenience store after an hour of city driving so Mello could buy seven bars of milk chocolate and a bottled water. Matt picked up a handful of Rockstars and a bottle of really cheap whiskey.

'Don't drink and drive.' Mello warned him, when they piled back into Matt's Camaro.

'Oh shit... you don't want me to do that? I was taking drop shots just before you came over.'

'You're such a miserable loser, I can't tell if you're joking.'

Matt tsked. 'It was a joke. I thought we could have a drink on the ferry.'

'It was a bad joke, and I don't drink piss. They sell better drinks on the ferry.'

'Yeah... with a huge price hike.'

'Wammy's gives all its students 7 figure bank accounts.' Mello sneered. 'You're cheap, Matt.'

'Could be worse.'

'How?'

Matt shrugged. 'My mate Ollie only buys beer with money he gets from collecting recyclables.'

'He's not a millionaire.' Mello said.

'I don't know that. Not like I asked.'

It was a busy drive to the ferry, and then a short wait to get through customs. Matt wanted to stay in his car and drink his whiskey, but Mello wanted to sit at a dinky table and listen to babies cry, so they did that instead. It was incredible how quickly Matt fell in behind Mello, just like old times. Mello bought them both a drink and exchanged some bills into Euros before they sat at a window. The ocean looked choppy to Matt. He didn't know shit about the ocean, though.

'What have you been doing, other than blackening your lungs and getting paler?' Mello asked, sipping at his drink like he actually cared what it tasted like.

'Nothing.' Matt replied. 'I accidentally committed larceny.'

Mello scoffed. 'Did you really?'

'An Xbox got stuck down my shirt.'

'It could happen to anyone.' Mello smiled, shark-like.

'I had to pay for it an say I was sorry.'

'That must have traumatised you.'

Matt shrugged one shoulder. 'I sleep pretty well at night.'

Mello nodded. 'So do I.'

'I won't even ask what you've done.' Matt said, putting his hands up. 'You pointed a gun at the only guy who's ever seen your butt mole.'

'Do you really think I haven't once taken my pants off in three years, Matt?'

'I guess I assumed.'

'Incorrectly. Good point, though. You'll find out what I've been doing soon enough.'

'I almost never change my pants.' Matt said conversationally. 'Once you find a good pair, what's the point?'

Mello nodded. His eyebrows seemed to have gotten stuck up in his hairline, but it was a better look than the broody fury of earlier. Matt had always been the only person who could make him relax.

The ferry crawled over the ocean well into sunset. When Matt drove off into France, it was dark. 'It's been a long time.' He muttered. 'I didn't think I'd come back here.'

'Don't be sentimental.' Mello scoffed. 'National pride is for weak minds.'

'I'm nostalgic, not proud. Jesus.' It was too dark to see France, anyways. And Matt had only been there from birth until the age of 6 or 7. All he remembered was a smattering of kindergarten, a park somewhere in the provinces, and a bleak existence not unlike his current one. All his memories were wrapped in a curl of cigarette smoke.

'Just keep driving.'

Matt started to get tired around 3am, and turned to tell Mello he wanted to pull into a hotel only to see that Mello was dozing. He batted him with the back of his hand. 'You can't sleep while the driver has to stay up!' He complained.

'I have the gun.'

'I'm pulling into a hotel.' Matt grumbled. 'Driving in the dark country is fucking boring.'

'Mm.' Mello put his chin in his hand and looked out the window. 'Did you grow up on the sea?'

'Yeah.'

'We can go look at it tomorrow.'

Matt sucked in a breath, feeling like he'd been punched. 'I missed you.'

Mello was silent, but Matt felt better just having said it. He didn't need it to be reciprocated.

He found a vacant motel and got a cheap room with two beds, a lamp in-between, and a boxy TV. Mello changed into sweats in the bathroom, and came back with his abs showing. Matt shuffled under the covers of the bed furthest from the door still in his same clothes and smoked a joint while Mello flipped through the channels looking for the cooking channel.

'Night.' Matt said, when he was too bored to stay up any longer.

'I can't believe you paid for two beds.' Mello chuckled, after Matt had turned his back and put a pillow over his head.

'You didn't tell me not to.' Matt mumbled sleepily.

'Mm.' Mello settled down on his back with his hands on his bare stomach. 'Goodnight, Matt.'

* * *

Matt woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Mello banging his fist on the mattress next to him.

'We're checking out. Car's packed.' He said, putting a mug in Matt's hand. 'Drink it on the road.'

It was 9am. Matt hadn't seen a 9am sun in a long time. The motel room looked softer in the morning, and Mello had chosen to wear less cloying clothes - black jeans and a white t-shirt, making him look like a fallen angel trying to copy James Dean.

They pulled out onto a quiet road flanked by light green foliage and industrial buildings.

'We're five minutes out of town.' Mello said. 'Are you hungry?'

'I don't usually eat until afternoon.'

Mello pulled a pair of lage black sunglasses out of the pocket of his leather jacket, which was still languishing in the backseat. 'Nice weather for the beach.'

'Yeah.' Matt flicked his cigarette out of the open window. 'I don't think I ever went to the beach when I was a kid.'

'You're going now.'

'Yeah.'

They drove through narrow streets past Italian ice cream shoppes and French cafes with sunbathing patrons sitting in green chairs outside. Matt had thought it was Saturday, but it was Sunday - everything was closed except the cafes. Mello directed them past a stone church with huge windows, an austere black roof, and a sharp spire that looked like a weapon reaching up to stab God. He crossed himself, but didn't ask Matt to stop.

France fell away behind them. They pulled into a parking lot on the coast and stepped out into cold, comfortable sun. Mello put his jacket back on.

'What do you do now?' Matt asked, looking out at the mud left behind by the low tide.

Mello's face was still. 'Let's walk.' He said.

There was forest around the water, and paths that passed stone walls, groves, and a cow field. Matt didn't walk much. He was breathing hard by the time they came to the top of a rocky cliff wall.

'It's beautiful.' Mello said matter of factly.

The colours were striking - blue-green ocean touching egg-shell sky, like a painting. 'Sure beats England.' Matt said.

Mello smirked. 'Nationalist.'

The climb back down was easier on Matt. They took a slightly different way, winding past an empty, overgrown pasture and an old church building with a locked gate and broken stained glass glittering.

Mello suggested they sit down at a restaurant for lunch, at a little place with no inside seating, just a window and a kitchen behind it. Matt had a hamburger.

'You're already eating like an American.' Mello said, between bites of his tuna.

'Burger's not American.'

'Obviously it is.' Mello had put his jacket on the back of his chair and was relaxing, ankles crossed. 'We're going to Italy.'

Matt nodded. 'Why?'

'Because I need to go to Italy.'

'I don't.'

Mello breathed deeply in the afternoon sun. He was cultured, Matt realised. He was mature. He wasn't the same boy who had left Wammy's in a huff and baggy pants. While Matt had been sitting as stagnant as a bloated fly in a reservoir, Mello had been experiencing life and drinking up the elements. His skin had a healthy tan. Matt wondered if Mello wanted him, and that was why he'd ridden the bus into London. 'Did you think of me after you left me?' He asked. He'd abandoned half of his burger in favour of another smoke.

'Sure I did, Matt.' Mello answered easily.

'Did you get over me?'

'I never tried to.' Mello said. 'I'm not like you'.

'Ok.' Matt shrugged out of his hoodie. 'Might need to buy another t-shirt.'

'We'll do that in Italy.'

'Great.'

The border came up quick, and then they were in Italy. Mello guided Matt through the mountains to another hotel for dinner. 'We're not far.' He said.

Matt knew enough by now that asking where they weren't far from would get him nowhere, so he just squished his cigarette under his boot and ignored Mello's comment. 'Uh... how much should we spend on the room?'

'Less than last time.' Mello answered smoothly.

Matt had bought a new shirt in a border town, dark with a pocket. Mello had come up behind him and brushed his hands over Matt's shoulders to tell him it made his skin look sickly, but his mouth had been close enough to Matt's ear that he barely heard the words over the implication.

It ended up costing more, because they were in a touristy beach view hotel with clerks dreessed in little red vests, but Matt doubted Mello actually gave a shit about the price. He was constantly on Matt's back about taking half eaten french fries out of garbage cans - which was to say, he had knocked the fries out of Matt's hands the one time he'd caught him doing it, and Matt had only done it twice over the span of their roadtrip. It was like he was obsessed with telling Matt how he didn't need to act like a pauper, and was a millionaire. Matt thought of himself as resourceful.

'Why don't we get a bottle of wine?' Mello asked, when they'd finished carrying their things up to the room and Matt was sprawling on the clean duvet.

'Sounds good.'

Mello rolled onto the bed next to him, and it was like they were 15 and best friends again, Mello reading and Matt smoking, side by side on Mello's twin mattress. Mello called room service and ordered oysters and pasta when Matt asked for a pizza.

'It's Italy!' Matt groused.

Mello sighed and kissed him, rolling onto his elbow so his hair fell over Matt's face like a curtain. Matt scrambled to put his cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table and then tangled his fingers in Mello's hair, holding. He hadn't kissed anyone since Mello. He hadn't wanted to, and hadn't really cared that he didn't.

When room service arrived, Mello answered the door with his shirt off and left Matt on his back. 'Grazie.' He said to the porter. He spoke perfect Italian - he hadn't in Wammy's.

'Have you been in Italy all this time?' Matt asked while Mello started eating. He put his head next to Mello's hip and reached for his pasta.

'No.' Mello said. 'But I have business here.'

'Mafia, I bet.' Matt joked.

Mello nodded, impassive.

'Not really, though.'

'I need the connexions.'

Matt swallowed his food, drank some wine. He wasn't really surprised. Mello was keeping his gun on the bedside table beside his rosary and Matt's ashtray. 'Want me to blow you?' He asked. He wanted another smoke, but he wanted Mello more.

'Yeah.'

They slept in a knot together, and then dawn broke grey through the window and Mello's alarm went off.

'No.' Matt whinged, pulling the duvet over his head.

'I have an early meeting.'

'Why do I have to be there?' Matt asked. His eyes stayed glued closed. He felt sick in the early morning; it gave him a stomach ache to get out of bed before noon.

Matt heard Mello putting his gun into its holster and banging their bags down by the door. 'You're the getaway driver.'

'We're gonna need that?' Matt threw the blankets off his face and sat up. 'Jesus! Did you make coffee?'

Mello shook his head. 'You'll be sick.'

'Yeah.' Matt conceded. 'Yeah, whatever, I'm up.' He took his goggles from the floor and slipped them around his neck. 'Let's go.'

It got hotter the further they drove into the heart of Italy. Matt rolled down every window in the car while Mello pumped gas at a station in Parma. Mello was on his phone for the rest of the drive, only put it away when they stopped and could be overheard.

'We'll grab food after.' He said, when they were coasting around the outskirts of San Marino.

'So... you're pretty confident there will be an after?'

'Turn here.' Mello directed. 'Yes.'

'Cool.'

They drove around the city like a coin in a donation funnel, and then rolled into an industrial district just after 1pm. 'Stay here.' Mello commanded, and then disappeared into a warehouse.

'Ok.' Matt said to no one. He got out of the car so he could lean against the trunk and smoke, staring out at the deserted road. The minutes dragged. Being a getaway driver was, so far, really boring.

'In the car!' Mello's voice shouted, and then the door of the warehouse banged open like a gunshot. Mello was holding his gun low, sprinting across the pavement towards him.

Startled, Matt jumped back and put his hands up. He'd never been in a high adrenaline situation, so it was new information to him that he was the type of guy who froze and got a muddled in the head about it.

'Drive!' Mello shouted at him. And then the building exploded.

'Shit!' Matt shrieked, pulling at the door handle. A wave of heat was chasing Mello, debris and smog that shone in the air. Mello dove at Matt, manhandling him, holding his shirt with tight fingers, and pulled him into the road.

The windows on Matt's beautiful car snapped. Mello had his arms up over his head and was still running, dragging Matt behind him. They slammed into another warehouse on the other side of the street, and Mello held him there against the blast.

'My car.' Matt whispered, watching it puff into flames.

'I told you to stay where you fucking were! What were you fucking doing?' Mello still had hold of Matt's shirt, and was holding him against the metal wall.

'I was just having a smoke! I was waiting for you!'

'You idiot - you were supposed to be ready in the car.' Mello swore. 'Hot wire something before someone comes to shoot whoever blew up this fucking warehouse.'

'You did.' Matt croaked, a little dazed. 'Holy shit.'

Mello yanked at him and shoved him in the direction of a beat up pickup with rusted wheel wells. 'This car sucks.' Matt complained when it started.

Mello was still holding his gun, and he pointed at Matt. 'Drive.'

'Yup.' Matt sped onto the road, tires squealing.

'We're going to the airport.' Mello said, after an uncomfortable silence during which he lowered his gun and tucked it back into his crotch.

Matt nodded. 'Missed the turn off for that.'

'For sucks sake, Matt.'

'You give bad directions!' Matt thumped the steering wheel. 'This isn't my fault!'

'Just turn around, our flight's not until 4.'

'Where are we having lunch?' Matt asked. 'I'm a bit hungry now.'

Mello stared at him. 'Stop anywhere.'

''kay.'

* * *

'But my ticket says I'm in seat 13B.'

'If you switch with me you'll be closer to the bathroom.' Matt tried. He'd hefted his dufflebag into the overhead, along with Mello's jacket. Mello was already sitting at the window, looking out at the tarmac.

'But my ticket says I have to sit in the middle seat.' The old woman showed Matt her ticket with shaky, blue-veined hands.

'It doesn't matter.' Matt looked imploringly at Mello, but he was ignoring him.

'That's good.' The old woman said, smiling. She put her ticket away and started to set up her pillow.

'Jesus Christ.' Matt muttered under his breath. He sat in the aisle seat, crossed his arms, and laid his head back. He hadn't packed anything to entertain himself with, not even a pair of headphones. He had never wanted to go to America.

Mello didn't seem concerned about any cops following them, so Matt had parked the beat-up pick-up they'd stolen in front of an ice cream parlour and eaten there in the sun.

Then they had left it in the airport parking lot. Good riddance, as far as Matt was concerned. He had made Mello promise him a new Camaro as soon as they landed in LA - he wouldn't leave the airport in anything else.

The next 13 and a half hours were agonising. He couldn't sleep because the plane seats were so small, he could barely talk to Mello because of the old woman between them, and his half-bottle of whiskey wasn't doing enough for his mood.

Mello had a book. He read it the entire time.

'That was shit.' Matt said, as soon as he had pushed past the old woman and was walking at Mello's side in the airport.

'Get over it.' Mello hadn't slept either, but he still looked sharp.

They waited for Mello's luggage to come around the carousel, shoulder to shoulder. Matt's hair was standing up where he'd pressed it into his headrest.

'We're taking my bike.' Mello said, leading Matt through the arrivals area.

'You have a bike here?' Matt asked, incredulous.

'I had someone bring it.' Mello said.

'Jesus, who are you?'

Mello turned around to look at Matt for a moment. 'Someone important.' He said.

'No kidding.'

Matt climbed onto the back of the bike and hugged Mello around the middle. He'd never ridden on a motorcycle. He had heard on of his mates who was a nurse back in London talking about how many motor vehicle accidents were motorcycles. 'Are we getting my car?' Matt asked.

Mello turned the ignition over without answering, and then the engine was so loud Matt couldn't even hear his own voice.

They drove into the city proper, and then out the other side into a residential district, and then off to the side and down a back alley. Mello stopped the bike and took his helmet off. 'This is the apartment.'

'Sure.' Matt slid off the bike. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'It's fully furnished. Everything you need will be provided. I'll be here with you when I'm not at the base. You'll be paid. You'll do any job I ask and talk to no one.'

'Right.' Said Matt.

Mello took off up a set of metal stairs to the second level. Matt followed after him, duffle bag over his shoulder.

By fully furnished, Mello meant it had a grey couch sitting squarely in the centre of a thickly carpeted living room, a small wooden table with two hard chairs in the yellow kitchen, and a queen bed in a small room at the end of a weirdly long hallway.

'Could we get my car now?' Matt asked, after spreading the contents of his dufflebag on the couch.

Mello tossed him the keys to the apartment. 'Let's go then. We'll load it up with whatever equipment you need on our way back.'

'What's the budget?' Matt asked.

'Whatever you need.'

'And what am I supposed to do with the equipment?'

'Your job.'

'Ok, good.' Matt said, just before Mello started the bike with a purr like a hundred mountain lions in a cathedral.

Mello took him to another warehouse district, which was the worst kind of deja vu. 'Do you ever put things in other kinds of buildings?' Matt asked. 'Or just warehouses?'

'Mostly warehouses.' Mello replied. 'This one has a Camaro in it.'

It didn't. It had a '69 Chevy Chevelle. 'This is a '69 Chevy Chevelle'. Matt said, when Mello showed it to him.

'And?'

'Not a Camaro.'

Mello shrugged. 'Basically the same.'

It wasn't, but the Chevelle was sweet. Matt ran his hand along the roof. 'Can I drive it now?'

'Follow me.' Mello said, tossing him the second set of keys of the day.

Matt smoked his first cigarette in his new car, feeling pretty good. He drove after Mello through LA, to electronics dealers and another warehouse. He waited outside an arms dealer, and then was given a gun by a surly looking Mello, which he put in his dwindling box of rolling papers.

'Am I in the Mafia, too?' Matt asked, when they'd gotten back to the apartment. He was plugging things into power-bars while Mello sat with his legs spread on the couch, eating a chocolate bar.

'No.' Mello snapped the chocolate for emphasis. 'You work for the Mafia.'

'Seems like the same thing.'

'It's not.'

Matt shrugged. Mello was a pedant. He turned the TV on. The apartment was starting to look quite nice - it was hard to walk in the living room, because it was coated in wires. 'Might like a coffee table.' Matt suggested. He was using an ash tray on the floor.

'I'll have it delivered.' Mello agreed.

'So I can't talk to anyone? Not even the neighbours?'

'Minimally. I'm responsible for you, so try not to ruin it.' Mello stood up from the couch. 'I have to go back to base.'

'Can I order food?'

'No. What do you want?'

'Just a pizza or something.' Matt said.

'I'll bring it back around 9.'

Mello closed the door behind him, leaving Matt to finish setting up his new consoles and boot up his laptops. It wasn't much different from his apartment in London. He was looking forward to getting by alright.


End file.
